Brian Finch is Always Thinking
by Enid Earthling
Summary: Brian and Rebecca celebrate a win at her apartment - discovering another link in the chain towards figuring out who initiated the NZT trials and how her father ended up dead - but, as always, someone is trying and stop them. Now, Brian and Rebecca are in a race against time, but who are they racing? Morra, Sands, the FBI? Even Brian's not sure... and that's never a good sign.
1. Chapter 1

Brian could feel her breath on his cheek, as the clustered hair of his never-there beard stubble bristled with each tight exhale of warm fear. She was lying beneath him, her arms wrapped around his back, his arms slipped under her shoulders, his bruised and calloused guitar-strumming hands grazing her silken hair. Their eyes briefly meet, taking in each others panic, trying to silently will it away with flutters and creased winks in the shadowed confines of their hiding place.

 _This would be sorta sexy,_ he thought, _if it weren't for the two guys tearing through her apartment. And if it were some other girl. Not Rebecca. Or maybe…._

The sound of dresser drawers crashing to the ground surrounded them, as her spare keys, extra ammo and even cutlery spilled out, littering the apartment. Brain held her closer, tightening his grip, each time a boot clad foot stepped nearer their secret spot under the floorboards. Dust nestled into his hair and skin and he wondered, _does she have allergies, because if she has allergies that's going to get us killed._

They had been drinking a beer, the last one in her fridge, passing it back and forth, taking turns at taking sips. She didn't wipe the bottle clean after he gulped in too much foam, spitting some of it out onto his pants, letting it drip to the floor. She wasn't concerned with the temporary mess or his germs or the squandering of the last beer. Rebecca laughed instead and he liked that.

 _Maybe too much_ , he thought.

It wasn't a date, though. It never was. They were becoming friends, real, honest, amazing friends. They were sharing more than personal stories and piles of casework, they were splitting checks at coffee houses and eating Chinese food out of cardboard boxes in his loft after work. She seemed not to notice how close they were getting. It never phased her, never became romantic or complicated or even intrusive to whatever part of her life Brian had yet to see. She seemed to need him at a time when she didn't need anyone else.

After Casey's death - _scratch that, after Boyle shot Casey_ \- she was different in the office. Maybe more reserved, if that was possible. She held herself tighter, stronger, kept all her anger and grief and shame pent up. It was the shame Brian knew she was hiding. How can you sleep with a man for months and never love him? Maybe never even really like him? How can you not know he's the kind of man who would betray you? Or maybe the kind of man you could force into betraying you with one hit of the send button on a terribly mistimed text?

 _She's wrong. She didn't do this. Casey did it to himself. I think._

Try telling Rebecca that. So instead, Brian kept his mouth shut and somehow that seemed to work.

The beer was in celebration of a cracked case. Brain had figured out that a missing NYC police officer wasn't missing at all. He'd faked a disappearance because he was skimming from the evidence locker, taking everything from money to drugs to guns, and then selling them back onto the streets. The kicker was, the cop would then bust the perps he'd sold the stuff to and do it all over again. The serial numbers on a few guns burned him and Brian was able to find him through a string of emails, though he did have to learn a bit of Spanish, French and German in less than three hours, coupled with code, in order to read them.

It was a case they never would have been on, if not for the fact that this particular police officer was a first responder to the body floating in the harbor - Rebecca's dad's body. Now, he was in custody and tomorrow Rebecca would interrogate him and learn something, Brian hoped, _learn anything, please._

"Thank you," she said, holding up the beer, forgetting Brian didn't have one of his own to complete the toast.

He reached out and grabbed the bottle, his hand inadvertently wrapping around her own. For a moment, she didn't let go, and they stood in her kitchen, hands touching, smiles brimming.

"You're welcome," he told her.

 _I love this part,_ he thought. _When the NZT starts wearing off, but the success of the day is still there, still reeling through my mind. I love days when it's just me and…._

"Brian," she waved her hand in front of his face. "You there?"

"Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

"You're always thinking," she relinquished the bottle and headed to the living room. "Your 12 hours is nearly up. It's time to relax."

 _I love days when it's just me and her._

Before she had a chance to examine his face, note his smile and the twinkle in his eye - one not created by NZT - they both heard the voices in the hall. They were raised, then hushed, raised, then silenced. Instinctively, Brain switched off the lights. In his time, he'd dealt with a few too many shady characters, always looking for a quick buck. Usually a buck he owed them and was unable to pay, so hiding was always his first move.

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but Brian put his hand up to stop her, still able to make her out in the glow of the streetlights just outside her picture window.

The doorknob began to turn, pressing against the lock. Someone was outside. Someone was trying to get in. Someone was trying to hurt them; Brian could only assume. He grabbed Rebecca's hand and rushed to the window. They were four stories up and without his NZT, or even a fire escape, Brian wasn't sure what to do.

 _Jump? Scream? Jump? Damn?_

Rebecca, her hand still wrapped in his own, moved to the bedroom, dragging him along. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and began prying up floorboards, three of them glued together, with a roped hinge holding them in place. It was just enough space for her to slip through. Before Brain could worry about his own form fitting in the opening, Rebecca pulled him down on top of her and slid the cluster of boards back into place.

Seconds later the front door burst open and the men were inside.

It took them five minutes to destroy her apartment, ripping through it like a tornado, without any care of who would hear, without any fear of being caught in the act.

Brain tried to take in the sound of their boots, the distinctive smell of their cologne, the way they walked, the whispers they uttered, everything. But as Regular Brian, the non-super powered, boring, simple, plain guy that he was, everything above them mixed together and sounded like nothing more than fear. Unless that was his own heart beating, pounding through his t-shirt and into Rebecca's chest.

 _I hate this part,_ he thought. _When the NZT starts wearing off, but the day isn't over and I still need my mind to reel with solutions to problems. I hate days when it's just me and her and I can't solve a damn thing._

"Check this out," Brian heard one of the men say. He was sure they were in the kitchen and even in his "simple" state he knew there was a half-drunk beer on the counter and a puddle of alcohol on the tiled floor. The men would realize someone was just there, maybe still there, and they'd tear everything apart to find them. To find her.

 _And I can't protect her like this._

The sound of a cell phone pierced his garbled thoughts, and Brian caught himself stifling a sharp inhale of panic. But it wasn't his phone or Rebecca's, their hiding spot was still safe. The men took a call, one saying some "yes sirs" and "no sirs" and before Brian could process what was happening the front door closed and he and Rebecca were alone.

Brian reached back to push up the floorboards, but Rebecca held him close, for just one more moment, then she released him and they were suddenly free.

The apartment lay in ruin.

"Are you okay?" he asked her feebly, not sure what to do if her answer was "no."

Rebecca nodded, shaken, but standing beside him. Alive, but covered in dust and Brian's sweat.

"I think they want the painting," she blurted out.

"One of your dad's paintings?" Brian asked, using his foot to sort through some of the papers on the floor. "I don't understand."

"They were selling so fast at his gallery show, I wasn't sure I'd ever see them again. And I know I said I didn't care, that I didn't want them or need them but-"

"But he's your dad."

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah. Well, he painted one of me, and I just had to have it. I don't know. I can't really explain it."

"I still don't understand," Brian repeated. "We don't even know who those guys were. How can you know they wanted the painting?"

Rebecca began looking through her war torn apartment, picking up broken pieces of her life, attempting to set them right again. "The case today with the cop. All that stuff about the NZT trials. I mean, Epperly died right after I talked to him about my dad. Maybe I'm getting too close.

Brian wanted to help her, always had, but he was still keeping his connection to Senator Morra and the reason for his miraculous immunity to NZT a secret. After what happened to Epperly, Brian knew she was in danger, no matter what Morra told him on that rooftop. Five extra NZT pills didn't mean the guy was a saint. The newspaper said an unidentified man died in a gas leak explosion, but Brian and Rebecca knew better. Rebecca knew something was wrong, someone was deleting NZT trial information from existence and Brian knew who was doing deleting.

"Brian?" Rebecca snapped his fingers. "You there?"

"Sorry, just thinking."

"I know. It's ridiculous, but what if my dad was trying to communicate with me?"

"Through the painting?"

"He's an abstract artist, like Picasso or Pollack, well not as good, but you get what I mean. And then, this one painting is of me. A fully rendered, huge portrait of me."

"You think it's a code or something... hidden in the image?"

"We have to get the painting, Brian. We have to figure it out before anyone else does."

"Well, I take it the painting wasn't in here," he said, holding up just one of many emptied dresser drawers.

"I rent a storage unit," she told him, her eyes scanning the ground. "The bill was in this drawer."

"Was?"

Ignoring him, Rebecca hurried back to the makeshift hole in her bedroom floor, rooting around the dusty space, searching for something.

"Well, if they have the bill, they have the address and the unit number. So, they know where the painting is," he said, looking to the table by the door and noticing, for the first time, her empty holster. "And they have your gun."

He walked quickly to the bedroom, to make sure she heard him.

"Rebecca, they have your gun."

Still on her knees, over the hole in the floor, Rebecca lifted a dusty duffle bag from the hiding spot and set it at his feet.

"Unless you have guns, ammo and maybe some body armour in there, I'd say it's probably time to call backup," he told her, as she opened the bag, revealing guns, ammo and a bullet proof vest.

"No backup. No one else can know," she told him, before standing and striding confidently to the door.

In his NZT-less state, Brian was overcome with wave after wave of conflicting emotions and hit after hit of questions without answer.

"Wait a minute," Brain called after her. She ignored him again, grabbing her car keys from the floor. "Seriously, Rebecca, wait."

Brain reached out and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. Anger shone red in her eyes.

 _I'm uselessly,_ he thought.

"We should call Boyle. I know things aren't really right with you two, but- oh, oh, we can call Mike and Ike. Or Naz? No, probably not Naz. I don't know. Give me a minute."

Brian began trying to think. It was harder than it had been just less than an hour before.

"I'm not calling anyone. And neither are you, Brian."

Brain looked her in the eye. That sounded like an order to him. _She never gives orders. Not like that. Not to me._

"I'm not going to let anyone else get hurt, or die, over this," she told him. "Now, please, Brain. Let me go."

They both knew she didn't have to yell; they both knew if she wanted to, she could put him on his ass in two seconds flat.

"Your dad's show was months ago," he found himself saying. The question was too strong to ignore, even if it meant she turned tail and ran from him. "Why didn't you tell me about the painting? I could have helped you figure it out, you know. And if I don't know about it, how do those two goons? What is going on, Rebecca?"

She wrenched her arm free and pressed forward, standing toe to toe, eye to eye.

"Why did you really steal the NZT files from Naz's office? Who else knows about our investigation into the trails? Someone does, Brain, or Epperly wouldn't be dead. Why is it that you think you know everything? NZT is great, for you, but I'm an FBI agent and you treat me like your underling. Why is that Brain? And why do you look at me like that? You're always looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Brain scoffed, shocked by the whole line of her questioning.

"Like you're dying to tell me something. Like you have a secret."

Brain lowered his eyes. She caught him, and in his state he didn't have a smart reply or witty lie to get out of it.

 _I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but they threatened me. Well, not me. Kind of me, with the whole saying I'll die a slow, painful, disgusting, NZT-withdrawal death. I mean that was pretty much a threat. But it's mostly my dad. I made a deal. A terrifying deal and now I can't-_

"Brian?" Rebecca shook his shoulders.

Brain blinked back into the room.

"Are you coming or not?" she asked him, turning back to the door.

"After all that, after everything you said, you want me to help you?" Brian replied, saddened by her realization that he wasn't exactly who he said he was and hopeful that she could see past it.

Rebecca stood with one hand on the doorknob to her apartment, the other wrapped firmly around the straps to her duffle bag.

"Rebecca?"

Throwing a glance over her shoulder, dust falling from her long, sleek pony-tail she smiled. "Yeah. I want you to come with me. Even when I'm so mad that I want to scream at you, Brian, I still want you with me."

Brian smiled.

Then Rebecca opened the door, and swiftly found herself violently thrown backwards into Brian's arms, the force taking them both the ground. Rebecca's eyes rolled back before closing. She was unconscious, lying limp across his chest and legs.

Looking up, Brain watched as the shadowed figure in Rebecca's doorway stepped closer.

 _Sands. Just my luck._


	2. Chapter 2

"We've been over this."

"I'll ask you one more time."

"You can ask a thousand times; the answer's going to be the same."

"Is Rebecca Harris still looking into her father's death? Is she still investigating the NZT trials? Who else knows?"

Sands leaned over Brian, who was seated uncomfortably in one of Rebecca's kitchen chairs, the sweat from his brow slowly dripping onto Brian's pant leg.

Brian wasn't restrained, he could leave at anytime - _can I? Really? 'Cause he's a pretty big guy_ \- but his back was on fire with pain. He must have hit it on Rebecca's radiator when they were both crashing to the ground. The chair, and the interrogation, seemed a better option than trying to stand.

For the past 10 minutes Sands had been playing Bad Cop to no one's Good Cop and hammering Brian with questions. Some Brian answered: What were you doing here? "Drinking beer." Some Brian lied about: Are you and the FBI agent getting a little too close? "No, that's ridiculous." Some Brian had no clue as to what to say: Who were the men that were just here?

 _How does he know about that? Is he watching Rebecca? Of course he's watching Rebecca, idiot. You think he just showed up a minute after those guys left and it's all a big coincidence?_

"Stop stalling," Sands growled, his British accent pitching each time Brian annoyed him. The pitch was increasing with every minute that passed. "Answer the question."

"Three questions."

"Excuse me?"

"Is she looking into her dad's death, is she looking into the NZT trials, and is anyone else looking into anything; three questions. All of which I don't have the answers to."

Brian fidgeted in the chair, then immediately regretted it as a stab of pain shot up his spine and out his mouth. As Brian groaned, Sands looked him over, surveying a new weakness perhaps.

 _So much for even pretending I can be tough._

No, he wasn't looking at Brian and his broken body, in fact, that made Sands chuckle (on the inside, of course). He was looking past Brian, to the floor, as Rebecca stirred. Catching Sands glare, Brian quickly turned to make sure Rebecca was alright.

"She's fine," Sands told him, "But let's finish this before she wakes up, shall we?"

"I thought Morra and I had a deal," Brian said, trying to sound defiant. His mind was in overdrive, trying to process why Sands was there, who those men were, if he should answer Sands questions, and whether or not Rebecca had an ice pack in the freezer for his back. But without NZT his version of overdrive was more like a car being pulled by another car, uphill, through the snow.

Sands knew better. "Morra gave you a chance to prove your loyalty and here you are helping her investigate him."

 _Investigate him? Investigate Morra? That's not what we're doing. Unless… Is that what we're doing?_

"What did those men want?" Sands questioned, his face pressing closer to Brian's.

From behind his seated position, Brian could hear Rebecca moaning. She was still half out of it, but he knew she wouldn't stay that way forever. If she woke up and saw Sands in her apartment it would put them all at risk: him, her, Naz, his dad. No one would be safe.

Weighing his options - _what options?_ \- Brian finally relented with a large defeatist sigh.

"A painting."

"A painting her father did?"

"I guess."

Sands raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, yeah. A painting her father did."

"And did they get it?"

Brian felt his insides growing ever more black with betrayal. What would Rebecca say if she knew he was laying all this out for Sands? What would Rebecca says if she even knew Sands existed?

 _I lasted 10 minutes before blabbing everything,_ he thought. _10 minutes more and I might do something stupid… well, stupider._

Knowing that what he was about to do would put the painting into even greater danger, Brian let the black feeling, the sadness, the darkness of playing both sides of the NZT war, wash over him. He wanted to feel bad, to punish himself. Rebecca was so close to finding out something, anything, about why her father died. _When she wakes up, she'll have nothing,_ Brian knew. _She'll have nothing because of me._

"No. They didn't get," Brian finally, but reluctantly told him.

"Where is it?"

"A storage unit. I don't know which one."

Sands let his eyes wander back to Rebecca.

 _Is that a threat?_

Knowing Brian was watching, Sands moved his hand to the large covered bulge on his own hip. Even without NZT Brian knew it had to be a gun. His eyes still trained on Rebecca, Sands let his hand hover, teasing, taunting, threatening to move.

"Please Sands," Brian pleaded, the physical pain from his back now an afterthought compared to the emotional pain of even thinking for a moment of losing Rebecca. "I swear; I don't know where the painting is. But those two guys do. They took a receipt for the unit and-"

Before Brian could finish his sentence, Sands lifted the edge of his blazer revealing his gun. Brian had seen guns before, being an FBI consultant meant it was part of the job, but this was different. In the woods with the Black Ops team, a gun, more than one actually, had been pointed at him - at his face, his head, his chest, his heart - but that was different too. Just looking at a gun, still holstered, that could hurt Rebecca hurt him. Brian had to remind himself to breathe.

Seeing the fear in Brian's eyes made Sands smile wide. It was disarming. But so was his swift hand movement, a steady reach at his hip. Brian threw his body from the chair, a shot of pain stabbing at his back. He propelled himself forward, in an attempt to tackle Sands, to wrench the gun away, to save Rebecca, to be the hero.

Instead, he fell flat on his face as his back tensed. His body had betrayed him. and so had Sands, who with a genuine, out loud chuckle, reached not for his gun, but the cell phone in his pocket.

"I got the information," he told someone on the opposite end. "I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Brian said, his neck craned upward, looking at Sands from his spot on the floor.

"I'm ready to leave, Brian. Put some ice on your back and if she doesn't wake up in another 30 minutes take her to the hospital."

"What?"

"The hospital, Brian. Take her to the hospital, if necessary."

"And tell them what? Some mysterious henchman of Senator Morra pushed a wooden door into her head?"

"You're a clever man, Brian. I'm sure you can do better than that. In fact, I know you will," Sands told him. This time it wasn't a threat, but Brian heard it that way, and another course of dread ran through him.

Before Brian could process what to say next, Sands was gone. Brian crawled from his spot near the kitchen back towards the window, where Rebecca lay strewn across the hardwood, a small gash on her forehead. Propping himself up against the wall in a terribly uncomfortable sitting position, Brian took Rebecca's limp, unconscious form and laid it against his own chest, holding her in his arms.

 _Wake up. Please, wake up._

Shaking her lightly, she only murmured unintelligible words, her eyes fluttering, but never opening. Still, Brian took that as a good sign. She was coming to. She must be.

"Oh, Rebecca, I messed up. Morra knows about the painting now. Or he will any minute. If we thought those two guys were bad… well, we thought wrong. By the time you wake up the painting will be gone. I just know it. And there goes our only lead."

Brian looked down at Rebecca, as the sweat from his panicked state dripped from his own temple, landing on her cheek.

 _Sweat._

"Oh my god."

 _Sands was sweating. Why was he sweating? He's always so cool and confident._

"We know something he doesn't."

 _Or he thinks we know something he doesn't. He said, "Morra gave you a chance to prove your loyalty and here you are helping her investigate him," but Rebecca doesn't know about Morra. And no one ever said anything about him and the trails._

"Morra knows who started the trials."

 _He must. And Sands thinks we know too. Or maybe he thinks we know more than that. But if that's the case then-_

"Then those two men know who started the trails, too?"

 _No. If they did they wouldn't need the painting. I'm getting this wrong. I need NZT. Damn._

Rebecca began to moan in his arms, the pain from her injury coming to her as she woke from unconsciousness. As she involuntarily stretched her sore body across Brian's lap, her FBI ID fold became visible, poking out from just underneath where she lay.

 _She must have dropped it in the melee,_ Brian thought, reaching for it, his back tensing as he grabbed hold of the leather binding and flipped it open.

It was empty.

 _They took her ID. And her gun._

"What is going on?"

"Brian?" Rebecca called for him, not realizing he was already there.

As she opened her mouth to speak again, Brian placed his hand over it and her once fluttering eyes shot open, staring straight up at him with shock and fear.

"Don't talk," he commanded. "I need to think."

Rebecca attempted to push herself up, talking under his hand, garbled words escaping through his fingers. Brian held her down.

"Just wait. Without NZT I need to concentrate."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"They took your gun." She nodded in confirmation. "And your FBI ID." She shook her head from side to side, not sure how else to respond. Brian ignored her. "And they took the receipt for the storage locker. In fact, they took all the papers from that drawer."

Silence surrounded them as Rebecca, her head throbbing with pain, her insides turning with anger, waited patiently for Brian to finish whatever thought, tangent, existential merry-go-round of NZT-less brainstorming he was on. She wanted more than anything to jump in, ask questions, kickass, but even without the drug, Rebecca knew Brian was smarter than most people she'd ever met. He'd never believe her if she were to tell him that, but a person who can read people, read what they want, read what they need, is more valuable in a crisis - in life - than she could ever have imagined just a few months before. She wanted Brian by her side. She needed Brian by her side.

So she waited.

 _Gun? Check. ID? Check. Receipt. Check? But the painting isn't important unless they knew Rebecca's dad left a code in it. And Rebecca doesn't know if he left code in it, so how could they. She's looking at me. She's waiting for me. Why is she waiting like that? Is it- no- yes. She trusts me. That's why I'm here all the time now. Why I know where she keeps the bottle opener and how she takes her nighttime tea. And where she leaves her-_

"Casefiles."

Brian took his hand from Rebecca's mouth, slid out from underneath her and jumped to his feet. As he groaned in pain, doubling over to grab his back, Rebecca's head hit the floor again.

"Can I talk now?" she asked him, sighing.

"Yes," he told her through gritted teeth.

"You're a jackass," she said, holding her head. He couldn't argue with that.

"You put your files, the ones you take home to look over after we close a case, in that drawer. You put them there, have your dinner and some wine and then take them out again to write your report before the morning."

"You pay attention," she told him.

"No. You're predictable," he said and she scoffed. "Sorry, but in this instance you are. So if someone was looking for something and they knew you they would know where to look. Those guys tore this place apart. They took your gun, your ID and that file."

"The file on the cop."

"They didn't want the painting. They don't even know about the painting," he said.

"They're part of the corrupt cop ring. They either want to know what we know-"

"Or they're going to make a move to get their friend back. With your gun and ID-"

"And all the info in the file," she continued. "They know where he is. I have to call Naz to make sure his location is secure."

Rebecca staggered to her feet, fumbling towards her bedroom, searching for her cell phone.

"We're going to have to go to the hospital at some point," Brian relayed as he hobbled after her, but she already had tunnel vision, she already had a mission.

As Rebecca found her phone on the bed and began to dial, Brian grabbed her free hand, holding it in his own. Touching her soft skin, feeling the warmth course through her into him, he realized how afraid he was of losing her in the moment he saw Sands gun.

"I'm really glad you're okay," he said, his eyes locked on her own. "I was so worried for a minute there when you didn't wake up. I don't know what I'd do if something-"

"Hello? Harris? Are you there?" Naz's voice pierced the moment and Rebecca was forced to complete her call.

She pulled her hand away.

Brian dragged himself back to the kitchen to search for that ice pack.

"Brian?" Rebecca said, finding him hunched over the kitchen counter, a few minutes later, a bag of frozen peas on his lower back. "Naz is securing the facility. I think we dodged a bullet there."

 _Maybe, almost, literally._

Brian looked up at her, his eyes clear and wide, and it took her back. In that moment he wasn't just the smartest guy she knew, he was the guy she couldn't be without.

"I don't know what I would have done either. What I would have done if something happened to you," she said, catching them both off guard.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Brian reiterated his stance, "Hospital."

Rebecca smiled. "Yeah, hospital."

She put her arm around him, careful not to press on his back, and helped him stand. Leaning on each other they made their way to the door.

"At least we still have the painting," she said optimistically.

"What?"

"If you're right, and I think you are, that means the painting is fine. After this is done, we can take a real look at it. Crack the code, if there is one. Brian, I really think this is it. I think you really can help me solve this. Thank you."

 _Don't thank me, yet. Don't thank me at all. I told Sands about the painting. When this is all done, I'm sure it'll be gone._

"Brian?"

"Hmm?"

"When I was coming to I thought I heard you say something about Morra," Rebecca said as they exited her apartment. "Did you mean Senator Morra?"

"No," he lied. "I didn't say that. I didn't say anything at all."


End file.
